The Hunted
by AppleA
Summary: THE FINALE:For VHunter07, all you guys here at FF, all those who've read this story, and for all those who left such wonderful comments. I will not post any more of FF, but I think I'm going to keep this here.I've got to everthing in the end. Goodby!*hug*
1. The Case

_A/N: I realize that this is not the most auspicious begining, but after some deep thought I've decided to keep it the way it is. Please hang on. :D_

* * *

I'd like to say it was a dark night.

I'd like to very much. But this was _Lon__d__on_ after all, and the fog made it a disappointing grey night.

The fog shielded many young lovers as the scent of roses lifted into the air, and nearby, a man played a violin to earn his keep.

_The odds were grim on this one._ I looked at my assignment slip, with the name "_Mr. Sherlock Holmes_" clearly typed.

I straightened my shoulders, an being one to always immediately jump into the fray, I promptly marched over to the violin player, his eyes ridiculously closed with a foolish half-smile on his lips and sharply told him to stop playing and start thinking about what a waste his playing was.

"What are you doing playing love concerts _at night_? In the first place, the ones that would enjoy it _are going to be too self-absorbed to pay you,_ and for another, _everyone else wants to sleep and they're not likely to pay you either!_"

The man stopped playing and quickly stuttered his apologies, coming out of his rose-tinted dream state with a "I'm sorry, don't know what got inta me…must 'ave been that wine…", keeping up his muttering monotony of excuses long after my back had vanished into the fog.

"_There's no doubt about it_" I thought grimly, frankly appalled at my next thoughts, for I had hoped HQ to be for once wrong. "_A Mary Sue's out on the prowl." _


	2. A Discription and a Preparation

At once I scouted out the terrain.

Apparently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was some sort of detective, meaning his clients came to him, and he would let everyone at least tell their story, if not take the case.

I groaned. This one was going to be tough.

A Mary Sue is a fearsome, vampiric creature that delights in sucking out all the love a person has until they completely change their character, lose all common sense plus the ability to speak like rational humans, and rush into any situation to save the Mary Sue. This spell is woven snugly within minutes of meeting the creature, and once the Mary Sue has drained all the love possible, or has merely become bored with its victim, it will set up a rescue situation that makes rescue impossible. Of course the victim, under the Mary Sue's spell, immediately rushes in, with little or no planning, and gets them self killed.

I refrained myself from immediately rushing to meet my client (although he did not ask for my services) to see precisely what sort of man he was so I could better prepare myself against the Mary Sue's inevitable targeting of my client by the paltry fact that it was one in the morning and Victorian gentlemen, I have been told, hates getting up at that hour. So instead I looked for a place to launch my counter attack and set up a resistance HQ, and to my great delight found an empty house directly across from his flat.

After quickly picking the locks, I dragged my luggage up the steps and quickly began to set up my base of operations.


	3. Starting the Hunt

Oh me oh my, London is ever so scary!

After my Father disappeared everything seemed to be oh so much more terrifying! How can one incredibly attractive girl with long black ringlets and a diminutive size ever hope to recover my Father?

After crying to one, very, very, oh so kind Inspector about my problems, (and oh woe is me, I have so very many of them too!) he really, really tried oh so hard to help me, he even found me a place to stay at this lovely hotel. I have this delicious feeling he's already payed the bill too! He is oh so nice…but I hope ever so much that it doesn't cost _too _much. Unfortunately, he does not seem to have any clues to my poor Father's whereabouts.

Luckily, as he was helping me, and I as thanking him oh so kindly, one of his partners got very red in the face when my Inspector seemed to be just a teensy weensy bit bragging about his skill and told me about a very clever man called Sherlock Holmes. Not that I have no faith in my Inspector Lestrade, but Mr. Holmes sounds so much more helpful, so I do believe that I shall pay him a call and tell him my sad story, for it is oh so sad, and I do hope a great clever man like Mr. Holmes can help me!


	4. Morning Bugle

Having set up my temporary home, I slept a bit until 6:00.

A long time in the force (Literary Protection, Unit Sue, jokingly referred to as "The Sue-Stoppers") had drilled my internal alarm-clock into me so it woke me up better than a jackhammer operated by a crowing rooster three feet from my head.

I prepared my anti-Sue kit, and dressed smartly in a no-nonsense black high collar dress, my bullet proof, blood proof, and love proof petticoats, and sensible knee-height black shoes with silver buttons and a three inch serrated knife hidden in the heel. I twisted my black hair into a severe bun, and donned on a very sensible hat bereft of flowers, feathers, or accents whatsoever. It is common practice in the force to send an agent that looks like the Mary Sue, so that once the client has seen you, anything the Mary Sue does will cause your face to jump into their mental image. It's ruined many a romantic moment, that tactic.

I heartily approved.

Having thus prepared myself, I let myself out of the backdoor, walked a few blocks away from Baker street, and approached my client's flat from the completely opposite direction, and on the other side of the street. After ringing the doorbell smartly once, I stepped back for the door to open, so I could save Mr. Sherlock Holmes from a grisly, rose-smelling fate.


	5. Agent Smith

I came down from my room for breakfast, and was slightly shocked, but not displeased, at the fact that Watson had risen before me.

Nodding amicably at him, I proceeded to munch on my toast, idly perusing the Agony columns. Nothing of any interest presented itself to me, but I as not unduly concerned by that fact, seeing as I had just solved a remarkably intriguing case but two days ago.

After handing Watson the paper, I proceeded to smoke my pipe until Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door and told us there was a young lady to see us. Mightily pleased at this, I proceeded to sit myself in my favorite chair as Watson, ever the gentleman, ran upstairs to hastily throw on some clothes.

I puffed contentedly on my pipe, heartily glad I did not adhere to the strict rules of propriety.

Minutes later, a puffing Watson came down and settled himself at his customary chair, as the footfalls of our estimable landlady and prospective client came up the stair. I noted the second pair of footsteps with interest, a brisk, heavy tread more suited to a man of some strength of character than a woman. I noticed with no small interest that one step appeared to be louder than the other and that lead me to the conjuncture that she most likely favored one leg. From her pace, it seemed she as in her mid-thirties, early forties. I was never more surprised and chagrined then, when the lady herself came in. If Watson could hear my thoughts, he surely would have whispered "Norbury" in my ear! She was about five-foot-three, wearing clothes suitable for a mourner. Her black hair not escaping in one tiny wisp from her bun, a hat that looked like it was left unfinished, and her extremely unflattering dress (although she carried herself in the manner of a lady- or possibly a military commander and had a nice figure) gave me two possible conclusions. Either she was a professional mourner and worked in a morgue, or she was an extremely unpleasant assassin.

Either way, it was best not to say anything until I had more proof, but seeing her mien, I threw out a blithe comment.

"I hope that your left leg doesn't trouble you too much Miss…?"

By heavens, she threw me the most calculating glare I have ever received!

"And, what, pray tell, makes you believe there is anything wrong with my leg?"

Her face suggested nothing hostile, and her tone seemed blithely curious, yet I was forcibly reminded of an Iceberg in mourning. Obviously the leg was a touchy subject. I hastily backtracked. "Nothing but the trifling observation that you seemed to favor your left leg coming up the steps."

She threw me one of the most interesting looks I have ever been gifted to be on the receiving end of. It was a mixture of respect and approval that reminded me of my school days and a particularly stern teacher.

"My leg has no troubles." She replied in a low tone, her head slightly to one side.

I was forced to look again at the appendage, and I felt Watson looking at it too with his medical eye. Through the layers of petticoats, the shape of the leg seemed to be about right, so I continued my search to her shoe…a line ran around the heel…which looked extremely detachable…I noticed the stiffening of the boot for three inches up the calf that the other shoe as bereft of…and the shape of that stiffness looked remarkably like a…"You keep a knife in the hidden compartment of your heel!" My eyes surely widened, if only a tiny bit. She must have noticed, for she offered a small smile. My first inference had been correct then. Assassin then.

She chuckled darkly, and my eyes flew to my revolver on my desk. "No, you mistake me. I'm no killer. I'm a protector." She smiled again, and I pride myself on reading other's emotions, and I saw that she was earnest.

"Whom do you protect ?" I warily asked.

"Right now," she folded her hands very calmly and stared at me, serenely composed. "You."

"I'm sorry miss, but I fear I have no need for your protection." My smile matched her's for ice. Surprisingly, she broke off the tension and relaxed chuckling.

"Good, good. You have spirit. You're going to need it." I bristled inwardly, but I continued to lounge in my chair, never showing my feelings past my mask.

"And what, pray tell, am I going to need it for ?" My eyebrow rose as I said that.

She looked straight into my eyes, and I as vaguely aware of Watson scribbling notes as she replied "Imagine your worst enemy. They frighten you, make you lose control of yourself. That is what you hate, correct ?"

Here I nodded, for it as true, yet so far no enemy has contrived to fully unnerve me.

"Now imagine an assassin set out to first unnerve you until you kill yourself." I snorted, fully aware of the futility of such an attempt. No assassin could possibly unnerve me that much.

This odd, unwomanly woman smiled at my reaction.

"I agree with you that someone trying to scare you would fail. This I can tell from you right now, your mettle is stronger than that."

"That my dear, is the first sensible thing you've said so far."

"Ah, but this assassin is _not_ trying to frighten you. Rather, she will be trying just the opposite." I'm sure my eyebrows were saying hello to my hairline.

"_She_ _?_"

"Yes." Her hands still clasped demurely on her lap, she continued in an even tone, "In a few days, possibly even to-day, a client will come to you. She will be about my size, wearing some sort of frilly dress, blue eyes, hair one shade deeper than my own, curled into ringlets. I must ask you _not to even let her into your study._ She is remarkably good at her job, and within two seconds of meeting her, you will throw my advice to the winds. _You must not let her speak. _If you feel you _must _leave this house, _I must be present_. This is for your own safety."

This was not to be endured!

"You think" my eyes narrowing dangerously, "that I shall be frightened by some mere chit of a girl? That I shall hide in my house like a rabbit in its burrow?"

"No." She had a cool tone to rival me at my best. "I fully expect you to become incensed at my words and proceed to disregard my instructions and get yourself, and possibly the good doctor killed."

This caused me to pause a moment. This as one of the rare times no one had introduced themselves. Therefore, she must have been spying on us to know Watson's profession. Ergo, this was serious enough for a seemingly grave young lady to waste her time on surveillance. I decided to voice my thoughts. "You, miss, have been spying on us. The introductions have not been made, and therefore, the good doctor and I have already had our habits and lives studied." I'm sure my eyes resembled a cat's by this time, by now, Lestrade would be quivering.

"Oh how rude of me." The amicable tone surprised me. It must be a jest for her to apologize for spying upon us so quickly. "My name is Mary Smith."

I seethed. She was not apologizing for spying, she was apologizing for neglecting to tell us her name! I beat back the urge to grit my teeth. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes at your service." My companion quickly got up and gave a small bow. "Dr. Watson at your service." She gave a grin. "Now that we have all agreed to work together, let's start a resistance plan."

I was shocked at her arrogance in twisting a polite nothing into a bond of service! My arrogance is one thing, in a woman it is just too unseemly.


	6. First Attack

Oh me oh my, I am ever so nervous!

It took me to days to find Mr. Holmes, I spent one day getting ready and picking out the most perfect-wurfect outfit ever for Mr. Holmes, and the next day it took me simply _hours_ to get there because those nice cab drivers kept arguing about the silliest things, like the best way to get there.

I almost walked there I got so frightened as they kept fighting over little-ol-me!

Fortunately a really-super-nice man oh so very quietly put me very, very gently into his cab and drove away like we were teensy-weensy mices sneaking away from some quarrelling cats. It was oh so very fun!

And now I am standing outside of his house, and it looks very nice. At least, the door does.

I am oh so disappointed when no-one opens the door after I wait for a horribly long time. I cannot help my fragile self! My lower lip trembles, because I've been so scared, my father's gone, everyone keeps fighting around me, Mr. Holmes isn't answering, and I'm afraid this horrible London air will ruin my oh-so-beautiful dress! It's just not fair! I realize I'm crying now, and very loudly. People are stopping on the streets and I know I must look something awful, even though when I cry, roses bloom in my cheeks and my lower lips trembles most becomingly and my eyes get all wide and really-super blue and snot never, _ever_ runs out of my nose.

Through my silver, oh-so-very sparkly tears, I see a man looking out the window, and my super-duper hearing hears him say "Oh Holmes, look at her! She's crying!" He sounds oh-so-super nice, and I hope Mr. Holmes listens to him, but I see with my super-amazing sight the nice man's silhouette get tackled by a fast moving blur to the ground, and I hope so very much that he isn't hurt, but then he gets up with what look like earmuffs on him. I start to cry even louder. It's not fair! Those mean people from that "Protection" agency got here first! _I'm_ the one who needs protecting! Not a big, strong, brave man like Mister Holmes! I sob as I get back into the cab. Once inside though, I use a hankie to change me back into my ever-so-cute self.

_I'm not going to stop until I see Mr. Holmes._ I think determinedly, my chin jutting out at an attractive angle. _I'm not going to stop until I __**have him**__…find my father._


	7. Proof & Scars

I'm sure I'm of of the 0.0001 percent of authors out there that's worried about updating too fast. xD As I'm posting this, only 4 people have seen the last chapter. -whacks self for being hasty- But this is too much fun to write! :P

* * *

"Was that completely necessary?"

"WHAT HOLMES?" Watson yelled from my bed where Agent Mary Smith was applying ice to the goose-egg that was rapidly forming on his head.

"Not you," I snapped irritably, "I'm talking to _her_." I irritably jerked my head toward Miss. Smith ("I must ask that you keep it professional. You will address me as Miss Smith, or Agent Smith. I refuse to answer to Mary, or any nickname.")

"WHAT HOLMES?" I waved my hand angrily and focused on Miss Smith.

"Was it really necessary to place me in the closet and tackle my biographer the moment we noticed that girl?"

If looks could kill, the look on my face could have slayed ten pacaderms.

"Yes, it was extremely necessary." Agent Smith was as cool as ice. "I submit to you this thought, can a normal human cry that loud without screaming? Can a normal human retain that plaintive tone for two stories and countless bricks? That _thing _is not human."

"Not human? Madam, when I agreed, _under high protest_, I must add, to follow your advice, it was against a _human _agent. I don't know what _you_ believe, but _this _agency keeps it's feet in _reality_."

"So you don't believe me that that creature as not human and possesses inhuman abilities?" Her tone was light, flippant even. I snorted. "Of course not, _Miss._"

"Then let me give you a demonstration. Dr. Watson here only saw here for less than a minute. Let's hear his opinion." She released the earmuffs from my biographers head. "Watson," I snapped out before she had the chance to say anything. "Can you describe her to me? Quickly man." I was slightly horrified as his countenance took on a dreamy factor. "She was the most beautiful, graceful, gentle, fragile, wonderful, spiritual, ethereal," Miss Smith clapped a hand over his mouth and put the earmuffs back on. "You see what I mean? She works quickly, no?"

I was a trifle disturbed at the drivel coming out of my Watson's mouth, but that surely must have been his romantic nature talking. When I said as much, she shook her head. "That is the power of the Mary Sue speaking."

I quickly interrupted "_Mary Sue_?"

She nodded, accepting my interjection gracefully. "That is an acronym for the creature, Malignant Amorous Rife-Yielding Sugary Upstart Entity. There have been many well-documented cases of the creature, perhaps you are familiar with Helen of Troy?" I felt like gaping like a fish, only years of rigorous upbringing stopping me from the embarrassment. "I see the disbelief in your eyes." her own sparkling merrily. I drew myself up to make some cutting comment, when she removed her hand from Watson's mouth "…enchanting, beseeching, fair, lovely, noble, enticing, wining…" The hand came down. Now my jaw really was on the carpet. My staunch, loyal biographer that had gorgeous women practically throwing themselves on him during my cases, _had been blathering about this one girl for this long after only catching a glimpse of her._

I shivered. This was most unwelcome proof.


	8. Sand into Pearls

The next day I came down immaculately dressed and meditated.

There were three things that needed my urgent attention.

First, what to do about this…Mary Sue. I could theoretically stay here until she went away, but that could take months, maybe even years. No, that would not do at all. I could not use force, for that was unpardonable in the eyes of the law and chivalry. I must somehow outwit the creature. But to do that, I needed a more thorough picture of its strengths and weaknesses, and to do that, I would have to ask Miss Smith.

Which brought me to point two.

Miss Smith was a most unwelcome ally. She was in a perpetual state of rudeness, and completely unfeminine. She acted as though I could not act for myself, coolly informing me of her status as my protector. Indeed, that coolness was the reason for my state of dress this morning. Although I am confident in my ability to stare anyone down in my dressing gown, with her I feel as though I should be flawless in my attack, and that means flawless in my person. She irritated me, to be sure, but damned if I was going to show it. I realized I was moving restlessly, angrily, even, at the thought of her smug, icy cool face. I moved on to point three to remove all thoughts of her to the back corners of my mind. Watson.

Watson was wandering around like a love-struck cow, and I must do something about it. Miss Smith, _there went any hope of not thinking about her_, said that Watson had been had been exposed to the full strength of the creature. How to break him of that spell? I suppose I could give him a concussion and give him amnesia…but head wounds were so tricky to get down with accuracy… I was snapped out of my revere by Miss Smith's voice.

I couldn't tell what she was saying, but even that was enough to set my teeth on edge and my eyes narrowing. I really must get a hold of myself, but sometimes it seemed like she was out to irritate me.

My countenance cleared when it was Lestrade bursting through my door panting like he'd run from Scotland Yard to here. "Mr…Holmes…have…has…._she_…been…here?" He was gasping and wheezing like a locomotive.

"Sit down Lestrade and get a hold of yourself. To whom are you referring?"

"Oh Mr. Holmes, you'd know who I was talking about if she had come here…she's an angel, Mr. Holmes, an angel! Dark hair…eyes the bluest you've ever seen!" I grew cold at the realization of whom he meant. Obviously he had fallen under her spell.

"I have not seen the lady in question, but I know of her." I responded carefully.

"Oh good, then I'm not too late." He said, mopping his brow. "Mr. Holmes, I know this is asking an awful lot of you, but..er…if she should come to you…could you…er…not say anything about me?" I flashed him an ironic smile, considering my position. "You mean not to say anything demeaning about you?" His face visible collapsed in relief. "Yes sir, just that."

"You have my word." I almost laughed at his expression of heartfelt gratitude. As he left I mused on what this would entail and how I could use Lestrade's infatuation to finally end this stalemate.

* * *

I smiled like a cat at Mr. Holmes face. My stratigy was working.

Fist off, by making him mad at me, I could lose nothing as he could not escape me, and I knew he would not physically hurt me. Secondly, I look almost _exactly_ like the Mary Sue. The angrier I get him, the harder it is for her to woo him, and even if she succeds, I can use that anger to break her spell. Anger is a sharp sword. I grinned at the thought of my next day's endeavor. I looked at my checklist.

_1. Take some of his Chemicals- Tell him it's to find a cure for Watson_

_2. Demand that he not use his pipe- Limited oxygen since we cannot open the windows for fear of the Mary Sue being down below- cite Watson's entrapment with the cry_

_3. Take some of his violin-cleaning products for continued use of "experimentation" for "cure" for Watson_

_4. Not allow him to join in on experiments- tell him it's skills that take a lifetime of training to accomplish_

_5. Keep smile in place_


	9. Beware The Tax Inspecors

"Oh Agent Smith, I know that you and I are…well, I' m sorry, it's just that I'm not used to this sort of thing."A charming blush glowed faintly on Sherlock Holmes's high and noble cheekbones as he looked up beseechingly from one knee.

"Mary, my darling, will you marry me?"

The roses smelled heavenly as the violin played softly from the ballroom as glittering couples danced away, unaware of the romantic moment happening right outside on the terrace, with the full moon and the golden pooling amber light from the ballroom lighting the scene; the glow of a thousand candles shining on her face, flooded with a pleasant pink tinge, giving her the aura of the most radiant Angel in Heaven, the radiant moon turning him into a priceless work of art in ebony and silver. She nodded, speechless. At the sight of his delighted hopeful smile, whiter than the stars above, she flung herself onto his neck.

* * *

Miss Mary Sue woke up with a scream that sent every male within the hotel rushing to her door.

As they were pounding frantically against the only barrier between 82 testosterone-crazed white knights and the damsel in distress, she was sobbing on the bedspread.

_It's not fair…why can't I be in her place? She gets to spend every day, every hour, every minute down to the teesy-weensiest second with Mr. Holmes and I have no one!_

The waiters were organizing all the men to lift a huge statue to ram open the door while three gentlemen (from rooms 314, 234, 176, respectively) ran to get the locksmith.

_I'm all alone, nobody cares about a teeny-tiny, scared, fully-of-age, blue-eyed little doe like me. Why-oh-why is she oh-so-very lucky? Is it because she's prettier than me? That's it, isn't it? She must be even more oh-so-super-nice than me for brave, wonderful, of-so-clever, gorgeous, handsome, super-amazingly-daring-caring-maybe-not-so-sharing Mr. Holmes to like her better than me! I feel so so so so so so so uuuuuuuuugly!"_

By this time, more than fifty men were trying to crowd themselves into a bedroom that was meant to hold ten at the max while Mary Sue sat, cheekbones on her knees with her hands clasping her thighs, oblivious to them all while she sobbed about her ugliness preventing her from every marrying.

She had 72 proposals of marriage within three minutes. (Some men proposed several times.)

12 of those were from a slightly balding, middle-aged tax inspector who had used his talents in junior boxing and weaseling through crowds (the former he had learned in school, the latter he learned in the Government offices) to get to his beloved dove's side.

Although, since he was in fact a balding, middle aged tax inspector, he did not command all of her left side. That honor he shared with sixteen men around him, all too busy trying to calm Miss Sue down that they failed to hear her. Being employed and trained by the government, Mr. Eddingburrow caught and understood some of her sobs.

Once his Angel was once more safely ensconced in her nest, lulled to sleep by the soothing repition of marriage proposals that flowed over her head like a tidal wave that continued long after she had actually fallen asleep, he set out, jaw clenched, his recently-purchased revolver in his pocket, striding as determinedly as a slightly-portly man can go, to the Residence of one Mr. Cad Holmes.


	10. Ice and Owls

A/N: Sorry for my long absence, I was on a Jeeves & Wooster kick. :D

* * *

I began mixing and fusing Mr. Holmes' chemicals immediately.

He had given over the use of his beloved instruments with a barely concealed ill-grace and was watching me like a hawk from his chair, his fingers twitching in rage, frustration, and lack of tobacco. I allowed my grin to become wider.

Once my concoction was a horrifying brown sludge with green flecks, I made a show of rummaging through the beakers, and when I "failed" to find what I was looking for, I turned to Mr. Holmes and asked in my best Mary-Sue-sickly-sweet voice "Oh dear, it seems your supplies aren't…oh please don't take this the wrong way, adequate. I sure it's got nothing to do with you being lazy or unmotivated in your chemical studies, it's probably just your being super-busy with your cases and high on cocaine when you're not."

I noticed the odd twitch in his eyelid. Point.

"Oh deary me, no offense meant! I'm not saying that you tinsey-weensy cocaine habit has anything to do with you slipping." I mentally reviewed the procedure for defending one's self against angry clients, and casually used my other foot to loosen my three-inch knife.

I let my eyes widen into a Mary-Sue epiphany and blurted out in a voice several octaves above my usual tones "Wait! I just had the best idea! Mr. Holmes, may I pweese use your cocaine? One of the chemicals in its makeup is just what I need! It's awfully crucial" Here I winced at my slip up. A Mary Sue would never use the word crucial, more commonly they would substitute "super-wuper important". I had to watch out for that. "for the cure. See, without it, the cure just won't have the brain cell messing-up power!" Here I nodded to myself. "Messing up power" more than made up for my use of "crucial" before.

I always hated acting so much like the Mary Sue; it was very challenging to audit every sentence back down to a hare-brain level.

I broke out of my self-congratulation to fully appreciate the incredulous look on Mr. Holmes face.

He stood up, and I suddenly feared I would have to use that knife. He was as cold as an iceberg as he walked over to his desk. He unlocked the drawer he kept his cocaine in, and I was prepared to swear the lock displayed frost after he touched it. He handed me the cocaine bottle, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in and clapped his other hand over mine, and I suddenly realized how much power were in those digits. For a moment, I remained in Mary Sue mode, until I realized what this was, a showdown. So I cast aside all Mary Sue and matched his stare, ice for ice. I let him see the true me, and he saw and acknowledged it.

Neither one of us would have stopped but for Watson wandering in "Unparalleled, wonderful, striking, a gentle doe, a songbird, a gem, soft, gentle, kind…"

We both stared at him. He was completely oblivious, wandering on murmuring "Lovely, unique, helpless, inconceivable, a goddess…" and climbing the stairs to his room.

He turned his head to me like an owl looking at a mouse. "For your sake, your concoction had better cure him."

He let go of my fingers and I turned back to my work, thoughtful at this new, unrestrained side of him.


	11. Mirror Mirror On The Wall

_Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Watch Me Break and Watch Me Fall. Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who's the Fairest of them All?_

* * *

After hailing a cab to Baker St, Mr. Eddingburrow looked up at the lighted windows.

He fingered his gun nervously, his grip faltering until he recalled his love's tear-streaked cheeks. Said image of tear-streaked cheeks diverted his attention for a moment, spurring meditation on various other parts of his beloved…like that slim waist, tiny like his salary…her lovely eyes the color of the lake at his childhood home…her hair, glossy as the ink on his job papers and soft as the market was becoming…her rosebud mouth, redder than the "AUDIT" stamps he used… After several minutes of this, his eyes focused in again and people stopped staring as he knocked on the door.

He heard some commotion at his knocking and immediately knocked harder.

When no answer came, he began to grow angry. He was hiding from him, the coward! He knew exactly what he had done and was refusing to apologize!

His eyes saw nothing but a red haze of AUDIT stamps, and in his fury he raised his gun and shot off the lock. He burst in and turned his head up sharply like a bloodhound as he heard the sounds of a large furniture object being pushed around upstairs. He took the stairs three at a time, his gun waving wildly. He pounded heavily on the door, furious to discover that not only was it locked, but even after shooting off the lock several pieces of furniture were blocking his path. He heard himself yelling in frustration, as he jerked the door outwards with savage ferocity.

His muscles, long dormant in his daily paper-pushing, were unbeknownst to him fueled by a small portion of the Mary Sue's power. He grabbed the settee and hurled it behind him, that admirable piece of furniture shattering into three pieces and millions of splinters as it was forced through the small doorframe. He snarled at the two me in front of the fire place, both with their stances wide and holding their guns directly at him. "HOLMES!" he bellowed, raising his gun. This man's actions proved to him a guilty conscious, and on his honor, he would make him pay for breaking a lady's heart.

He raised his gun, not knowing and not caring which one was Holmes, for the other one was helping him. Both men trained their guns on him, this puffing man with a wild look in his eye, and for a moment, not even one tick of the clock, this moment of utter stillness, where time seemed frozen. A girl stood up from the bench slowly, not breaking the trance, and walked softly over to him, until she was in his line of fire, her arms spread out. The man took no notice of her and focused on the men, his eyes never leaving their faces, his panting coming out harsh and ragged. And then the taller man and the girl spoke at the same time. "Sir-" "Put down-" They never finished those sentences, for the moment they spoke, the man came out of his trance and fired. Three shots reverberated in the room. Both Mr. Holmes and Watson fired around Miss Smith, but Mr. Eddingburrow in his rage pulled the trigger without thought. She crumpled to the ground, her hand falling palm-out towards Mr. Eddingburrow. He finally looked at her face, and whispered brokenly "My God…what have I done…forgive me my dearest…I…love…" He closed his eyes and knew no more.

* * *


	12. Protector Gone, Prey Doomed

I awoke to stabbing pains in my abdomen.

I fluttered open my eyes to take in the scene, Mr. Holmes talking angrily to some constables in the sitting room as they took away the body, Dr. Watson facing away from her, wetting a cloth in water. I gathered up my breath and turned to the Doctor. "I want to speak to Mr. Holmes." He smiled at me as he put the cloth on her forehead.

He replied gently "Certainly, but not right now, he's busy explaining to the constables." I drew my breath and screamed "MR. HOLMES, IF YOU DON'T GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW YOU DUNCE, I WILL-" Dr. Watson jumped, knocking over the water pitcher, and then scrambled to my side as I coughed up blood.

Damn.

But it did the trick, as he came in a serene as the Arctic, meaning frigidly cold and very harsh.

"Yes Miss Smith?"

I drew a deep breath, hating the fact these would be my last words.

"Call me Mary, please? And when I die, please don't blame yourself. It's not really your fault that you were too focused on hating me, or that you weren't smart enough to think of this, or that you weren't strong enough to stop him, or that your cocaine symptoms clouded your mind, or that you failed even now to find a way to break her hold over Watson. It's not your fault you failed because you were blind. You're the most super-wuper, incredibly strong, brave, handsome, cute, precious man ever. Even if you're too stupid to break the hold the Mary Sue will have on you. It's not your fault you're too imbecilic to keep everyone safe. You'll just go on in love, just like that stupid man that shot me. It's ok, really it is. You are just a man, and I'm glad you let me know that you have an average intelligence. I feel honored to have been allowed to know your secret."

My tone was exactly like the Mary Sue at its most amorous. My voice matched hers in every way.

He sat there, looking like I was something on the bottom of his shoe, his lip curled in distaste.

My breath was becoming shallower.

I looked up to him with doe eyes, and said "Please, call me Mary."

His eyes blazed as he spat out my final wish. "Yes Mary." Watson whispered into his ear that it was my last request, and that he should honor it better than that.

He bowed his head, then called upon his acting abilities and said "Goodbye Mary." in quite a gentle tone.

I chuckled grimly to myself as I leaned back down on the pillows and spoke my last words on Earth in my own voice. "Goodbye you pompous bastard. Don't let yourself kill you."


	13. How Low Can You Go?

As soon as Miss Smith passed on, I followed the constable down to Scotland Yard.

Although I had hated the girl, and her final words were quite beyond the pale, I was certainly not pleased at her death. Now that horrid noxious potion of hers was unfinished, and thoroughly unusable as a cure for Watson, and the one person in this city who knew of the creature's weakness is gone.

I lost no time in streatching my legs after her orders had kept me locked up like a caged animal. However, I took all precautions and took a hansom, making sure not to stare at the passerby's and plunged myself into thought for added protection against noticing her. I focused on Miss Smith's death. Obviously, her actions at the shootout were designed to get the man to notice her.

Of course, if he was under the Mary Sue's power, she must have been trying to make him think that she was the creature, thus allotting her power over him! Unfortunatly, he was too blinded by hate. Part of Miss Smith's last degluge of insults came back to me. _It's not really your fault that you were too focused on hating me..._

Although I had not gotten a very detailed description of the creature (the late Miss Smith's brief and succinct picture was hardly enough, and Watson was spouting nothing but romantic drivel found in any penny romance) I realized not for the first time the similarities between herself and the creature. Not only did they match almost exactly in looks, if her description and that 40 year old unmarried tax inspector with a failing kidney and poor taste in cigars reaction is anything to go by, but even their names were similar. At the time I had been too infuriated to notice, but her actions and manor changed drastically, wildly fluxuating from cold steel to sucrose-nightmare. Obviously, she was pretending to be the Mary Sue. The only reason I could see for this highly degrading charade would be to reinforce a negative aspect to the Mary Sue. A logically sound plan.

I shook myself and stepped out of the cab, tossing the man his fare and climbing up the steps to Scotland Yard's front door.

* * *

Oh me oh my, my poor Father still hasn't been found!

Because of that nasty Agency, I am doomed to live a life all alone, without my proud papa by my side to guide me. If he was gone, I should have no one to walk me down the wedding aisle!

The very thought made my bottom lip quiver as kind Mr. Lestrade tried to reassure me that they'd find him.

I used his handkerchief, feeling very sorry, and trying my best not to cry, but I'm afraid I didn't do to well. Big, silver teardrops glided down my face, as I sat rigid with grief.

Could no one help me?

After a moment, dear Mr. Lestrade came and hugged me. I'm sure he meant it in a brotherly-sisterly sort of way, and I am oh-so glad and grateful to him. But his hair smells horrible. Not at all the way I imagine Mr. Holmes' hair would smell. Thinking about his wonderful hair made me stop focusing on my poor, hopeless problems, and after enough thought about his hair as dark as the Raven's wing, (and the Raven is apparently a super-smart bird, so it fit him perfectly), I even smiled a tiny, very cute, smile.

* * *

_My vision became a field of white moments after I closed my eyes into the blessed cool, pain-free darkness. I seemed to hover, content in the sensation. I felt a sense of peace. _

_Wait a minute, no I didn't! What kind of Agent am I, dying and leaving their client in mortal danger and then having the audacity to feel peaceful about it? _

_I attempted to sit up. After turning summersaults for a few moments due to lack of bodily resistance, I finally managed not only to sit up, but to actually stand up as well. At least I hoped it was up. I took a deep, metaphorical breath and looked around me. _

_Whiteness. _

_One would think I was inside of a Mary Sue's brain for all the seemingly pure and empty whiteness. _

_I spun a few times, and then I noticed a small grey blob on the horizon. Seeing as I had no other destination, I tried to walk myself forward. After a few tries, I determined that too much focus was needed to lift one leg and use it to propel the rest of me. It seemed that if I pushed my head forward, the rest followed much easier. Thus gliding, I made my way to the blob, which resolved itself to be a rather grey-looking man, whose plump figure I recognized as the shooter. _

_He seems to be staring blankly…and in the utter stillness of that place, I could hear him muttering "What have I done? For what? She didn't even know my name. Why? Oh, God, why did I do this?" _

_"Because a devil induced it's madness into you." I fired coolly as I kept my distance, hands folded in front of my waist. He spun, and just like me, the ease of movement was highly disconcerting. After watching his spin like a top for several seconds, I managed to float close enough to him to lay my hands on him and push in the opposite direction, ending his spin. "You!" He positively gaped at me. _

_"That depends on whom you're referring to. If 'You!' means the girl you shot, then yes, I'm me. But if 'You!' means the one you 'loved', than sorry, not me." _

_He stared at me, then dropped his head in his hands. "Oh God…I killed you? I don't even remember all of what I did. Oh God…where are we?" He moaned, and I was pleased at how human the tone was. With everything so odd happening in this odd place, I couldn't be sure how spectral we were. _

_"Apparently, we're dead. Therefore, we are either in Heaven, which I'm highly skeptical of, Hell, which this hardly feels like, or Limbo. I think we're in Limbo, a state that unjudged souls rest until they face their trial." His face took on a moment of panic. _

_"Trial? When?" _

_I shrugged my shoulders (highly relieved when this action did nothing to my balance). "Well, either until Judgment day, if you believe in that, or until we find the judge." _

_His face settled down. His eyes returning to the spot he had been staring out before. "If that's the case…" He vacantly stayed still, even when I floated to his face and waved my hand in front of him. _

_"Are you going to stay there?" I got no response, and I frowned. This man was acting odd, even under the circumstances. He showed no interest in the how's and who's of his death, and now he seemed to be setting himself up to stare off into the distance for all eternity. After trying to get his attention several more times, I started to think about my own situation. _

_Point: I am no longer in an alive body. _

_Point: But I still exist, via my soul. _

_Point: I appear to be trapped in a No-Man's Land for all time. _

_Point: I have a bullheaded client in trouble. _

_Point: I needed to help said client. _

_Point: Present company is useless. _

_Point: I don't like this. Not one bit. Ergo, I need to do something to remedy the situation. If this is Limbo, there must be other souls here, and possibly something, or someone, else of a slightly higher rank. _

_I squared my shoulders and set off purposefully to find this someone, and see if anything could be done for Mr. Holmes, my last client._


	14. Wind in the Willows

_I floated for what seemed to be miles. Without my body, I could not judge by fatigue exactly how far I had come._

_I tried to use my time productively and think of the situation and how best to guide Holmes if I could establish a long-term communication, or exactly how I could condense all of my information should I only be able to get a small message out. Unfortunatly, I noticed I had begun to drift to one side due to lack of concentration. I quicky straightned my course, not wanting to be drifting around in circles for all eternity and ruefully concluded that I would have to stop contemplating anything for some time._

_If you were ever forced as a child to run laps around some gym or field that was so big, you couldn't see the starting point, and had fallen into the rhythm of running so that it had become automatic, and all you could do was look for your coach, who was around here somewhere, so you could stop, you might understand something of how I felt._

_There was no sense of time, and nothing to gauge it by. I still don't know exactly how long I was floating there. If you had asked me right then, I might have said anything from one hour to one century. All I could do was pray that time wouldn't slip away from me, that I might get there in time._

_The first thing to break the monotony was a girl._

_She was staring out just like the man had done._

_I drifted closer, and saw her rich dress, creamy lace and red velvet, was from the Elizabethan time. The full skirt hung listlessly off her tiny waist, without the slightest movement from her or any wind to disturb it. I drifted closer and heard her droning in an undertone, like a monk, the words "He deserved it…it wasn't my fault…he did it…he was guilty…guilty…I'm guilty…no...I'm not because he deserved it…it wasn't my fault…"_

_I floated right in front of her and cocked my head. Was it worth it? Time was so precious, but she might know something. I decided to try to wake her. After shouting in her ears, pushing her around like a rag doll, waving my hands in front of her face, she finally blinked after I shut her jaw and put my handkerchief in it, thus effectively stopping her monotonous litany. After watching her carefully for a moment, I said slowly and clearly "Can you hear me?" She nodded. "I'm going to remove the gag now, and will you talk to me?" She nodded again, her hungry wide eyes never leaving mine. I cautiously removed the gag. "My name is Mary Smith. What is yours?"_

_She slowly blinked again, and cautiously, as though she had forgotten, said "I am Lady Syndony Maltoun, of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth's Court." I nodded, pleased that I had gotten the time period right. I was apprehensive, however, because I did not know all of the polite niceties that one had to practice back then. It would not do to offend the first person I met here, and possibly my only source of information._

_"Have you seen anyone else here?"_

_"No." There was a dreamy look in her eyes. "Hast thou come to judge me? Has Armageddon come to pass?"_

_"No, the world is still whole, and the eternal battle between Heaven and Hell still rages in the hearts of men. I have not come to judge, but to be judged." She shuddered. "Do not seek judgment! You may find that Heaven has lost the battle in thine own heart."_

_She obviously had nothing more to give, but I could not just let her sit here until the end of time like my killer. I must admit, I had not tried very hard to make him come with me, but we are dead. What could harm us now? Had he been in any trouble, I would have forced him to go on. Looking at Lady Maltoun, left standing for centuries making no movement but the murmur of her lips, I realized that danger had more forms than just pain. "Come with me. You cannot sit here for all of time muttering. If we are dead, then what have we to fear? Shall we waste eternity on nothing but a puff of breath? If we are to face eternity, I prefer to face it with action!" I had drifted off to her left side, closer to her ear in my speech._

_She turned her head, like a haunted marble statue in a museum after hours. "I prefer to stand here than to face what ye go traipsing to, and if you continue to go on verily, ye be a wayward clay-brained skainsmate!" I reared back a bit at that. "I may not be perfect, but I must get a message to my client! If there is someone out there with the power to judge souls, they must be able to grant my request!"_

_"Able indeed! The Lord is indeed able, but will he be willing to grant thee this you young fool? Forsooth! Thou art a brazen reeling-ripe giglet if ye think the Heavenly one will grant anything to thee!"_

_"You curse like a sailor or a bawdy gentleman that's had too much to drink milady." My eyes flashed with fire. "Can it be you were truly in that most honored of courts? Or are you nothing but a finely-clad sausage-wallet?" I used the only Elizabethan insult I retained from Shakespeare at her. I'm not sure they had the word that immediately sprang to mind. Here she straightened up and glared. She even took a step forward! I was close to rejoicing. Now I knew that it was possible, once someone has slipped into that trance, to break it and move from the spot. I had considered that her answer "I won't" stemmed from "I can't". There was hope for her and the man I had left behind. Then she spoke in a low tone that sent shivers down my spine._

_"He was the one…it wasn't me…it's not my fault…he made me do it…I am not ready to be judged! Who are you to say that I am! Who are you to judge me! Three others! Three others in as many nights! Scoundrel! It is his fault! He stole my heart, I merely returned the favor! He gave his hearts to pigs, I gave the same and more!" I froze, my mind working on overdrive to decipher her words. "He…slept with three others, and you cut his heart out. Then you fed it and…the rest…to a pig?" She nodded and stepped back to her original spot, her eyes looking out again and resumed to murmur "It's not my fault…I'm not the guilty one…not guilty…not guilty…"_

_I quickly backed away. Obviously, this was not worth it. Precious moments had been lost talking to that…psychopath. As I floated on, I idly wondered (making sure I did not drift favoring one side) if the people in limbo were separated. Those who murdered were rooted like weeping willows, their muted guilty monologues like the wind whispering through leaves, while the rest of us drifted along on the wind._

* * *

I waited for Lestrade to finish with no little patience. It was all I could do to stop tapping my toes. And then _**she**_ came out.

* * *

After that hug, Mr. Lestrade let me go and had an oh-so-adorable blush on his face. I'm not sure why, because that hug was really soothing. They must tell all the Inspectors to do that. Maybe he felt that he was overstepping his rank and class, for my papa _is_ a Duke after all. As I thought very hard about that, I felt super-wuper confident that I had got it right. When I told him, he looked a little confused. He probably was just so confused that I figured it out oh-so quickly!

Well, after that, he let me out and I saw _**him**._

* * *

_A/N: Syndony Maltoun is a fake person, but the names, both given and sur-, that make up hers were real names back then. Another form of Syndony is Sindony, which I thought was appropriate for her character, although the name itself was not used extensively back then. I apologize to anyone who may have descended from anyone called Maltoun, another form being Malton. I also thought this was quite appropriate for her, mal- meaning bad and –ton being the English upper class._

_Sausage-wallet: It's not complimentary, and yes, I know what it means. (Think Vegas' primary reputation-aside from_ _the gambling.)_

_Other insults were from renfaire(dot)com/Language/insults.html_


	15. Bingo

_A/N: I'm sorry it's so short. -blush- There's a shout out to all Jeeves & Wooster fans in here. xD And there are 86,400 seconds in one day. :D_

* * *

She was…beautiful. A divine goddess! My eyes were lost in hers and I floated towards her, taking her hand, not daring to break eye contact unless this turns out to be a cocaine-induced dream.

Because no sane dream could be this euphoric.

I raised that flawless appendage to my mouth, and not daring to breath, ghosted my lips over it. I lowered her hand, and blinking, realized the liberty I had taken. I nearly blushed when I realized that I was still holding her hand. I released reluctantly, noticing her charming blush and small smile-that smile! My God! My ears dully registered a noise like a small fish flopping on the docks. I sincerely hoped it wasn't from me.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I have so wanted to meet you!" It was as if the Heavens opened up and started singing the Hallelujah chorus. She knew my name! I drifted on, in utter rapport, forgetting about what I was going to tell Lestrade. Who looked as though he was a marionette and someone had cut his strings, his back hunched and his mouth slack and open in shock. I wondered why. Maybe some constable had told him some new news about a murder while I was busy? I had no mind left anymore for deductions as I drifted out with _her_.

* * *

Oh me, oh my! I feel faint. He's a Greek God! Those strong, gorgeously thin arms, he's oh-so tall and strong! I do so hope he'll protect me! My heart nearly stopped when his lips touched my hand. He was…perfect. So unlike that nice, brotherly Inspector Lestrade, who was making several odd noises. I do so hope he's ok, he's been oh-so-super-kind, like family to me. _I finally can have him_…listen to my poor, sad tale.

* * *

I kept floating. I had started to count under my breath after I left that woman. So far I was at 54, 346.


	16. He Needs a good Kick In The Pants

_1,623,478 seconds later I saw…something else. It certainly didn't look human. I slowly drifted over to it. It was the first thing I had seen in approximately 18.8 days. I drifted closer, as near as I dared and ran an appraising eye over it._

_I was right in saying that it wasn't human. It was covered in some sort of gray cloak, that pooled and twisted like mist at his feet. And I'm not talking about an arrangement of pleats, his cloak quite literally was made of a strange mist. His face was grey and shrunken, like the faces of the unwrapped Egyptian Kings._

_After a few moments of weighing the pro's and con's, I stepped up, directly facing the creature, my stance easy instead of hostile. It looked at me, grey, flaking skin stretched over his hollow eye sockets. It stared for several beats, and then it did the oddest thing. It gave some sort of croak, like a cat with a mothball shoved down its throat, and then it coughed. Things flew out, things that looked like dust and dry leaves, things that would have been blown into a crypt._

_He spoke in a voice that sounded as though your great-grandpa had just risen from the dead, hollow and phlegmy sounding. "Greetings. I am Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj. Who art thou that speaks to the Master and Keeper of Graves? Has thy tomb been desecrated perhaps? What boon do thy crave? Are ye craving that they feel the hand of justice and wet themselves and trip over someone else's tombstone, thus dying with the disgrace of soiled pants and a coward's death?"_

_I blinked. "Actually, I'm not even sure where my body is buried." He looked pleased at this. _

_"So you beg me to find your corporal remains and see if they have been dealt in a respectful manner? This is pleasing. I hate to kill other mortals in revenge; the other spirits get upset at the use of their tombstone used as a murder weapon. Know ye, little mortal, that I must extract revenge upon any who should desecrate any resting place of all the departed if the spirit is displeased. And if the desecrater has been killed by my hand, and another doth complain, I must kick myself in the pants. 'Tis not pleasant little mortal." I blinked at this again. _

_He seemed friendly, and he obviously was someone I was fortunate to meet. I was musing on this when I noticed that he was humming slightly, a surprising cheerful tune, possibly at the happy realization that he would not be called upon to kick himself in the pants at anytime in the foreseeable future, and had conjured up a globe about the size of a dinner plate. The globe was grey, with a heart of white, and was smoking slightly. It looked exactly like a ball of dry ice put into water. I suggest you try that, it does look rather impressive. _

_Intrigued, I leaned in and peered with him into the heart of the globe and saw the white take on colors. The smoke drifted in front of my face, blurring my vision from the twisting colors in the globe that resolved themselves into the image of Scotland Yard's morgue. The faces on the slabs were blurred. The globe focused on a certain cabinet in the wall, just one out of hundreds. The smoke kept twisting about my eyes as the box became transparent as I saw myself in the bow, wearing nothing but a sheet and a body tag. I straightened up with a wave of my hand. "I'm still in Scotland Yard. I'm not sure why I'm still there, I died 19 days ago. I should be buried right now. Unless…" Here I paused and groaned. "I should have known counting wouldn't help. Time flows differently here!" I looked up in frustration to see Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looking at me, his mouth agape, giving me a perfect picture of the rotted teeth and a deep inky blackness that looked disconcertingly liquid. His brow was furrowed, and I was afraid some of that skin that was flaking was going to fall off._

_"Little mortal, does this Daemon and Pestilence bearer understand that you have made it to me in less than 5 of the mortal Earthly days? Salvation, you must be as tenacious as the Mammoths of Old!"_

_I almost blushed at the praise, but then the polite knocking of Miss Manners beat on my cranium. "Oh, excuse my rudeness, my name is Mary Smith." Really, why do I always forget that step? It could be because all the agents knew each other, and we rarely said our names... I curtsied, not entirely sure what would happen to me if I touched Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj._

_He smiled, and although he had no eyes, flaky skin, and rotted teeth, it was a pleasant expression. "Well Mortal Smyth, hast thou satisfied thy craving for knowledge?" I smiled back. "Thank you. You have put my mind at ease that I have not taken too long drifting. My mission is not to gain knowledge, but to impart it." If he had eyes, I bet they would have sparkled with interest at that. I began to tell my story._

* * *

Three days in paradise! Oh, how beautiful is my love! She is so adorably foolish, I feel the urge to protect her using my own intellect.

Poor Watson's getting quite a bit of the green-eyed monster. Never have I felt better toward the fellow, for I am in love, which makes everything seem perfect, and my beloved Boswell is very polite and steers all conversation away from my love. He is so thoughtful! I really should appreciate him more.

I have given up my cocaine, for it holds no appeal for me now that I have tasted the sweetness of love. My violin does not help me think, for everything I play turns out to be a homage to my dearest. Even my cases pale in comparison to the pleasure of her company! I only take small one that I can finish quickly, and I would not even take those were it not for the fact I needed money to take my darling out to dinner, theaters, and for the engagement ring I'm saving up for.

I realize that I have been sitting here at the dinner table talking about my love for nearly 15 minutes. I noticed Watson's small smile. He seemed happy for me, but also indefinably sad that she could never be his. When I stopped my monologue to remark upon this, he favored me with that tiny smile again.

"I'm happy for you Holmes. I had feared that you would never find love. And as to my infatuation, it was for her face only. Remember, I only glimpsed her once, and she most likely is ignorant about my existence."

I smiled in pure happiness. Did any man ever have such a friend? Watson was a paragon of good grace!

I indicated that we could change the subject. He looked relieved, and then told me about Miss Smith's time in the morgue was running out. More bodies had to be put in there, and since hers was an open-shut case, she should be buried immediately. My good mood threatened to evaporate. "Oh Watson, must we speak of her? We couldn't trace that 'Agency' she claimed to come from, and there were no family members in three continents that we searched! My darling is of the opinion that she was a Con artist, and I'm inclined to agree. Let her be buried in a paupers grave and move on." I finished with an irritated wave. Watson gave me a deucedly odd look.

"You've never been so dismissive of anyone, not even the lowest of your acquaintances. You may have not noticed it Holmes, but she's changed you." My good mood evaporated.

"Maybe this change is for the better! I've given up all those piffling habits you've been trying to break me of for years, and for the first time in years I'm _happy_ Watson, _happy!_ What is so wrong about that? Oh never mind, do whatever you wish with her deuced grave!"

I stalked over to my pipe and lit it, more than just a little incensed by the appraising look that deuced Watson was favoring me with.

He stood up. "We don't have the money to give her a full funeral. But she will not be buried in an unmarked grave. I'm going to dip into my savings to buy a tombstone." And with that charming Parthian shot, he retired to his room.

I sat moodily smoking my pipe. I felt slightly guilty for not helping financially. I knew Watson depended on those savings for all his medical supplies he puts at my disposal for my cases, as well for his rent and basic living supplies. I looked over to my cheque book a little hesitantly, but then the voice of my love rang in my ear. "I wouldn't spend a guinea for someone that was so mean to me like she was to you. She was so rude Sherily!" My resolved thus fortified, I contentedly got ready for bed.

* * *

_A/N: Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj learned English as it evolved. He gets few visitors, so his accent is a bit more recent than Syndony's, but not at all Victorian. xD And yes, he does use "Salvation!" like we would use it's opposite. He makes English into his own language pretty much when he's not helping disgruntled spirits. :P_

_(points to anyone who can name the movie the chapter title comes from xP)_


	17. St Dream Rabbit, the Mary Sue Slayer

As I drifted off, I had the oddest dream. I saw my love, but she was not my love. After a beat, I sleepily recognized her as that hateful Smith girl. She was on a background of the purest white, so unsullied it was almost painful to look at. Her mouth was moving. Several seconds later my dulled senses recognized that she was trying to speak. As soon as I reached that conclusion, my ears recognized the sounds that sort of _slid_ into place. _"-mes, can you hear me?"_ I nodded, to tired and lethargic to respond._ "What's been happening down there?"_ I thought to myself, _So this is what Heaven looks like. Rather boring._ After sitting blinking for a few moments, I finally managed to force out "I've met the most beautiful girl…Watson's buying you a tombstone…Lestrade's has refused to acknowledge my existence because I "stole" her…I'm going to propose…" I was a bit miffed when she looked horrified at my declaration of finding true love.

"_You…you…WHAT? You blatantly disobeyed my orders and now..! Listen closely Holmes, she will_ _kill you._ _If she or her actions force you to go into a rescue situation,_ _don't go. __**You will die.**_ _**She is not human!**_"

I suddenly remembered why I hated her so much. I turned over and blocked this strange dream from my mind, no longer wanting to listen to that voice. It seemed to work, for the voice faded _"Holmes, remember the sword of anger! Remember, she had me killed! She will kill again! She'll take Watson away from y…"_ I sighed in contentment as that hated voice faded. I yawned and got to the serious business of checking my eyelids for holes. That dream was ludicrous. Mary hadn't even been aware of the shooter's existence….and she was so pure…she could never kill anyone. _Besides_ I thought to myself, _Nobody could take Watson away from me…_

* * *

_I gritted my teeth as the globe's heart faded to white. I turned in despair to Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj. "What are we going to do now?" I asked in exasperation. "Holmes's too pigheaded and entrapped to listen to me!" Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looked at me thoughtfully. "Holmes? Tall, energetic, prone to tripping over gravestones?" I nodded. "I'm not sure about that last one, but that sounds like him."_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj grinned. "If't were not for the fact that all 5 of the gravestones he shot were the resting place for forgiving priests, I might have had to take action Mortal Smyth."_

_I looked at him curiously, a grin blooming on my face at the thought of Holmes tripping over gravestones. Then I had a thought._

_"Qu'zss'nut'ck'u'nut'k'zit'de'george, why do you speak with Old English inflections?"_

_He looked at me strangely. "Why did you call me Year Monkey Trunk Ornament Pus Universe Dream Rabbit in ancient Ethinkian? Is that what your people call a 'nickname' Mortal Smyth?" My jaw dropped slightly as I flushed at the embarrassment of mispronouncing his name._

_"I'm so sorry! That was just me mispronouncing your name…by the way, what's ancient Ethinkian?" He shuffled his feet, clearly embarrassed by my embarrassment. "The Ethinkians were a small cult in the time of NERO CLAVDIVS CAESAR AVGVSTVS GERMANICVS, and were wiped out, at the same time Emperor Nero had his mother killed, for inventing too complex a language. The Ethinkians had a theory that the __current language was too simplistic to fully express the cosmos, so they invented their own. Emperor Nero had all 12 of them killed as soon as he failed to understand the language, for he did see the dangers in a language that could be used for spying. They were such a small cult, and barely one month old in mortal time, so none missed them, and history forgot them. Only I, the one who protected their bodies from the wild animals he fed them to, remember." He gave a small coffin cough again. "Luckily for other cults, learning the language distracted him so much that Christianity was able to get firmly established enough. And yet, little mortal, no one remembers them and their charmingly complex language." He flashed me one of those smiles, and the rotted teeth seemed negligible when compared to the pure emotion behind it. "It entertained me for a full hundred Mortal moments, in between my duties. T'was a most complex language."_

_I returned the favor, and remembered my original question. "That's fascinating…thank you…although if that's what I sound like I'm saying, I think it would be best if I did give you a 'nickname'. May I call you George?" He nodded amicably, remarking "That is…acceptable. Mortal Smyth, may I ask why thou hast fixed on that particular name?" I gave him a smile as I explained. "The last part of your name sounds like a name from my time, George. The only other part of your name I can seem to pronounce is 'zit', and I don't think you deserve to be named after a skin affliction."_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj, George only out loud, laughed. It was the oddest sound I have ever heard, although not unpleasant. It sounded like a books had been tossed up into the air, and all the pages were rubbing against each other, with sharp overtones of the sound of crackling, dry leaves._

_If he had eyes, they in all possibly would have twinkled. As it was, he cocked his head and let a smile play about his cracked lips. "Mortal Smyth, it is rare that anyone talks to me calmly and takes an interest in Ancient Ethinkian, let alone bothered to give me a 'nickname' that is considerately unrelated to the bane of young mortals. For that, I thank thee."_

_I brushed off his thanks with an airy "Learning new things is a hobby of mine, and a great joy. Which brings me back to my original query. Why do you speak with an Old English accent? You surely have had more recent, er, visitors, so why is your accent unmodified?"_

_He folded his hands that had been hidden by his sleeves into his robe as he answered quite calmly, but still keeping his head at that almost jaunty angle, giving him an amused air. "I used to keep my accents to the current reflection of the area whichever angry soul hailed from, but it seemed that as fast as I kept trying, the more mistakes I would make. For some reason every single English-speaking soul laughed at me whenever I adopted a particular accent from a charming section of England. Apparently a "Cockney" accent does not lend itself to gravity."_

_I tried to picture Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj, Daemon of Vengeful Spirits Against Desecration speaking in a Cockney accent. He saw my face and looked slightly annoyed. "If thou explode from that contained laughter Mortal Smyth, I shall not pick up the pieces. You have my permission to laugh, Eternal Suffering knows I've heard it enough."_

* * *

Oh Mr. Holmes is so perfect! My world is complete. The Agent is gone (and I was oh-so horrified at the squicky-icky details!), and Mr. Holmes is mine. He takes me to the most wonderful places! And if the concerts go on forever and bore me, it means I get more time to lean on Mr. Holmes' wonderful arm!

I've started planning our wedding, for it looks like I have found a man that I shall never…get _tired_ of. And that reminds me of my poor Father. I do hope they haven't hurt him! I'm confident my Sherily will find him in time! But although I miss my father dreadfully, I don't care to remind dear Sherily, because when he does, he leaves me for so long! And then he's so sad afterwards, I just have to give him a hug. That always cheer's him so!

* * *

_A/N: Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj allowed her to call him that because George was easy for her to say, and it amused him to hear her call him "Dream Rabbit" in Ethinkian xD (Which by the way, that cult is only remembered by Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj, so don't bother to look it up. ;3)_


	18. If At First You Don't Succeed, Try Again

"Ahh, c'mon Reg. Just finish up that last'un so's we can get a drink." whined a skinny man in a brown vest, grey shirt that started out white, and dusty tan pants.

Reg wiped his brow with the back of his burly hand. "I'm tryin' Dave. The letters're gettin' mixed up." Dave hopped on one foot with impatience. "Then fix 'em! How hard's it gotta be ta spell out "Mary Smith"? The poor bloke didn't even have enough cash to put dates onint!"

Reg grunted in frustration. "I know Dave! I don't need the likes of you to harp on me! But all the other letters keep spillin' on the stone"

Dave sauntered over curiously. "Wotcha mean? All them little stylus-letters is in their boxes. They can't just jump ou-" Here the letter F hit him straight in the forehead.

He spluttered furiously. "Whatcha do that for Reg?"

Reg put up his hand. "T'wasn't me, look!" The outline-letters were pooling over their boxes at alarming speeds. Dave went red as Reg's tie as he screeched several octaves above his regular tone "Well put 'em back!"

Both men frantically scrabbled to stem the tide, but it poured over their hands. Reg was sweating and Dave started to gibber. "Oh Lord, the Devil's in these things! Saints preserve us!" Suddenly, Reg stopped. He folded his arms.

"Dave, stop." Dave paused, and stared as though Reg had sprouted horns and was speaking Finnish. "I fink they're trying to spell sommat. If we can't stop 'em, let's see what ther' a-tryin' to say." Dave reluctantly dropped his hands and stepped over to Reg, making sure that Reg was covering most of him from the haunted letters.

They watched in amazement as the letters started to form the words "HOLMES MARY SUE DEVIL CALSS SUCCUBUS LEVEL 3 DEADLY YES SOULS STEALER ONLY IF YOU KILL FOR IT RESIST REMEMBER TIMES BEFORE HER ASK WHY YOU LOVE HER IS SHE WORTH IT LOOK AT SURROUNDINGS BEST WAY TO BREAK HOLD IS" But the stunned tombstone-decorators never heard the rest, for just then, their boss came in, saw one look at the spectral letters and screamed as he blew the tombstone to pieces with his revolver.

After calming the hysterical man down, they all decided to find this "Holmes" and tell him about the message from beyond. But first, they all agreed they needed a fortifying drink. By midnight they had drunk away their memories of that horrible experience so much, they had forgotten their own names.

* * *

_"**Slavation!**" Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj swore._


	19. Carousel Turning

On the fifth day of paradise, I wondered if Heaven was worth dying for. Things had been getting tense at the flat, which was partly my fault for talking of nothing but my love. Poor Watson bore it all with the patience of a Saint, but every time I brought up the subject of my happiness, he came as close to eye rolling as he ever will, and responded in nothing but terse, monosyllabic sentences. My finances were getting into dire straights, but every time I took a new case, Mary pouted and later clung on to me as hard as her small fingers would allow. I hated to see her so distressed, but it seemed to me that the more often it happened, the more disturbing it got. She couldn't seem to realize that I had a life that did not solely revolve around listening to her extol my virtues and listen to her small problems. The only true trauma in her life, it seems to me, if her missing Father. Were it not for her sweet nature and complete lack of thespian skills, I would assume she had made it all up. And sometimes that sweetness was just too sweet…like a sucrose-encrusted dessert that is guaranteed to make you sick. I vaguely remembered using something like that phrase before..who was it now..oh yes! That so-called "Agent" Mary Something-Of-Other. Really, her sugary tone of voice was quite sickening at the end…

"Sherily! Oh Sherily, look at these diamonds! Aren't they the most beautiful things you've ever seen?"

Good Lord, she's risen from the dead! I look frantically around for somewhere to hide from that saccharine horror of a woman, until I look at the figure approaching me and I see it is my Mary. Ohh…how could I ever have mistaken her dulcet tones for anyone else?

"Sherily, these are the most shiny pretty-witty diamonds I've ever seen!"

Oh…she's so beautiful…her beauty far surpasses those of the pale hard stones. Of course I tell her so, for I cannot keep anything from the woman destined to be my love! Of course, I buy the diamonds as a keepsake for the brilliantly happy smile my Queen bequeaths to me.

* * *

I do wish Holmes would stop blathering on about Miss Sue. A dashedly odd last name if you ask me, but I suppose that's not her fault. Besides, it'll change to Holmes after the wedding. My stomach clenched oddly at that. Holmes was not the same man. He took no more cases than his financial status demands, and after the wedding, I wonder how his bride would find it in herself to let him take such a dangerous job. She seems the clingy sort to me. It's true I was enamored by her when I saw her crying, but after five days of hearing your normally intelligent friend blather about a girl for five days, most of his metaphors horribly mangled and actually rather accidentally insulting, infatuation is soon replaced with irritability. I know for a fact that I did not lose my head so when I met Mary, or Holmes would have thrown me out on my ear.

I stopped for a moment. _Mary…_ I buried my head in my hands. Now I knew the reason my heart clenched so oddly every time Holmes went on his delusional rambles._ Because every time I heard love words with Mary's name in them, it reminded me of her…_

* * *

_I nearly howled in frustration when our latest plan had been foiled by copious amounts of ale. I floated furiously back and forth until Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj stopped me with a calming hand, saying as he did, "Little Mortal, the Fates have decreed that no message from thee shall reach the mortal plane."_

_I whirled to face him, forgetting as I did that turning quickly causes one to spin like a top. After seeing my predicament, Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj grasped me by the shoulders in an effort to slow me down. Unfortunately, not only does he look like he's made of skin, bones, and mist, he weighs like it too. We both went spinning around for what seemed like an age, his bony fingers with cracked yellow nails and grey papery skin on my shoulders, his feet level with his hands. I assume we made quite the picture. As I kept spinning I noticed a lack of dizziness, which was obviously a side effect of flesh. Therefore, my mind was remarkably clear. I wished it wasn't when it occurred to me that anyone who might be looking would have undoubtedly been able to see up Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj robe. I wondered if they would see skinny grey legs with untrimmed toenails or blackness of that disturbing liquefied quality, or something else my brain couldn't begin to fathom. I shivered and shook my head to clear those mental images._

_**"Mortal Smyth, please cease to shake your hair! It is tickling my eyesockets!"**_

_His scream in my ear kickstarted my brain back into action. "George, see if you can swing in the opposite direction, that'll provide a counter-measure and stop us!"_

_He quickly complied and soon we stopped and his legs lowered to a more respectable version of vertical._

_"You were saying?" My ire had been somewhat swept away by the last few moments. He cleared his throat again. I was interested to note that although he still expelled some dust and leave-like particles, it was not as copious as when he first demonstrated it. I idly wondered if it was somewhat like sweeping out a sealed tomb- the more times it was opened, the less came out and the cleaner the tomb gets. This led to speculation of how long it had been since he had last favored anyone with that kind of cough. Most angry spirits want a truly impressive Protector and Bane of Desecrators, or so he had told me. He had confided in me it was a bit boring to speak in only a booming voice with no tone that everyone seems to expect. Fortunately, as a spirit, I was able to think all of this in a blink of an eye, so I could immediately be attentive to his words._

_"The Fates have decreed that the Mortal Holmes has a different path than the one you're leading him down. Therefore, they have cancelled my powers to help you. They do outrank me Mortal Smyth, so there is nothing I can do to argue in thy favor."_

_My chin jutted out at that. "You may not be able to argue for me, but I can argue for myself perfectly fine!" My eyes were flashing with fire. It occurred to me to wonder if, or how, exactly Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj saw my expression, or anything else for that matter. "Take me to the Fates. I refuse to believe that Mr. Holmes is to become the plaything of that monstrosity!"_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looked much taken aback at my outburst, and for a moment I was fearful that I had broken some ancient law, until he slowly started to grin._

_"T'would be fascinating to watch Mortal Smyth. I cannot help but think ye may be able to do some good. But a mortal like you would be lost for eternity searching for the Fates. I will not lie to thee, Mortal Smyth, t'will be an arduous journey." He chuckled. "It is fortunate that I am not bound to any one spot on the plain of Limbo, else I would not be able to accompany you. You are a fascinating study; I shall enjoy learning about you on our trip."_

_I smiled, happy and pleasently surprised that I would be able to journey with Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj. I playfully responded "Alright, but fair's fair. If you are learning from me, I must be allowed to ask questions of you." He nodded bemusedly. "As long as it does not reveal any secrets I am sworn to protect, I will assuredly answer all thy queries Mortal Smyth."_

_I gave him a grin as I responded briskly "Well I hope this isn't a cosmic secret, for I am extremely curious. How exactly do you see?"_

_He stopped for a moment, and then laughed that paper-and-crackling-leaves laugh of his. "Mortal Smyth, I believe that you are the first mortal to be bold enough to ask that. I shall indeed enjoy your company." He grinned again, allowing me an unprecedented view of his broken molars. It was a wonder he didn't end up with a split lip for all that his thin dry skin seemed ready to split at any moment. "To answer your most admirable question, I am not, nor have I ever been, in possession of a human form. Therefore, like all other spirits with no human contact, I see through my aura. I have been told that mortals can only see in front of them. Because of the placements of your kind's eyes, I am not surprised. This leads me to the conclusion that my sight is better because I can see everything around me, for much farther than your eyesight." He punctuated this speech with a jaunty whistle, an upbeat tune until he broke it by saying "If ye have anymore questions, please ask! For we do have much ground to cover."_

_So it was with pleasure I started to ask everything I could think of._


	20. Fallen Angels

Good Lord! If I have to spend one more minute with Holmes fiancé, I will surely go insane!

I'm glad to know that I didn't put Holmes through anything like this hell. _My_ Mary was sensible, and only giggled when she honestly found something amusing. She also didn't _cling_ like a barnacle, or one of those plants that wrap around their brethren and strangle them. Although I may have possibly walked around with that same expression on my face that Holmes's is currently sporting…

But I can't stand to see what she's been doing to Holmes! Normally I would rejoice to see him giving up cocaine, eating, and flying along, happy and without a fit of depression anywhere to be seen. But it's not natural! He gave up the cocaine, but gained another obsession. He may have lost the unnatural glint in his eye, but now it's been replaced with another, and he looks like a fever victim as he runs around to procure gifts and tickets for his love. He may be eating, but only when he's in the presence of his love does he have any meals. And she makes sure he gets three square meals a day. And although it pains me to say this, I'd rather have him under the fit of depression than under the claws of that woman. He frantically scrambles to do her bidding, even giving up his beloved pipe because she doesn't like to taste smoke when they kiss!

I grit my teeth at the thought of them kissing. Not that I mind kissing in general, but when the woman your best friend is kissing uses her body to move him anywhere she wants, and only breaks away when he's suitably disorganized and moldable to her wishes, which she tells him in that disgustingly sugary voice, and then you have to suffer seeing the most intelligent man you know slack-jawed, eyes unfocused, mutter "Wh…uh…yush...shure…luve…" That is when kissing is unacceptable. At least she has the good manners not to do it in public.

And the galling part is, I'm not convinced he really loves her! When I manage to pry him away from her for a length of about ten hours, (which is no small feat!), he gets a small frown on his face whenever he talks about her, and his old spirit returns. He can even speak full sentences, praise be Heaven! And not every sentence he says is complimentary to his "love". But he positively _cannot_ talk about that young lady that stayed with us before she came. I do not remember much about her visit, but I do remember a head wound when she tackled me, and for some reason big fluffy pink ear muffs.

But I do know that she talked about some creature…something that would attack Holmes and anyone who got in the way on it's path to him. I have to break her hold on him before this creature strikes.

* * *

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj and I floated along for some time, and he would have us turn at the oddest places, unmarked to my eyes, but to his aura we were floating along a road. I had already asked him how he saw, which lead me to ask what he saw. He started to explain, but found English "too limiting" and drifted into other languages, some of which were dead before Caesar, or I had never even heard of. We quickly got off that topic for my brain's sake._

_As I cast around my brain for another question, still reeling from Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj shock that I couldn't understand simple Ancient Aztec, my thoughts returned to the Mary Sue._

_"Were you there when the first Mary Sue was released? Have they changed at all? How many of them are there?" I probed insistantly. That last question the Agency had been trying to figure out since our founding in 9,367 BC._

_He paused, tilting his head up a little bit, one papery finger to his cracked lips, and I could see him rewinding time in his skull._

_"The first wife of Adam, Lilith, spawned the first Mary Sue with a Devil. _

_And lo! For their child was born fairer than God's mankind! For the Devil had not but recently fallen from Grace, and was still fair. The child was given the power to blend in with the Mortals and the ability to procreate like a rabbit from her Mother, and from her Father received the power to bend Mortal's will to her own, and to control how she would giveith birth. So thus using her Father's immortality, she waited for human kind to gain __dominion and to grow more plentiful, that she might slip among their ranks unnoticed, and using her Mother's powers, she seduced many powerful men, and upon seeing the pain of birth, she turned her Father's powers to her will, and sent the accursed children from her womb into other unsuspecting women's bellies. _

_The children grew and prospered, all girls, each the most beautiful in the land. _

_But alas! Her mother was horrified to learn that they were mortal. She decreed that they must never grow to be seen old, and bound her children to the solemn oath that they would leave the world of men once they failed to ensnare their prey. _

_Over time, she learned to send her children into lives that would garner sympathy, to better trap their prey. While she was disappointed that her daughters were mortal, she rejoiced at the skill they could entrap even the most difficult Mortals. _

_While her Mortal mother had perished, she asked her Curséd father how best to use her powers and her children. After speaking to Satan himself, who once was God's most trusted advisor and thus knew more of God's Holy Plan than any other, he told his daughter to ensnare the most powerful of the world, the strongest men, the fastest, the smartest, and to bring their souls to the Devil. And thus the clever daughter did as she was told and gave the decree to her own brood. _

_And lo! Mankind was deprived of its best followers of God, its most courageous, its smartest, and its straight boy bands. The Mary Sue's sucked the soul out of their victims before killing the body, and sent the souls to the Devil. However, the scales of justice must eventually be balanced. Because the victims had not fallen through any flaw of their own, but by a soul-leech, and were sent to the Devil without bodies, their souls were unable to be tortured. Satan raged at that, and tried to change the Mary Sue's to kill differently, but it was too late! They were too set in their ways. So the Devil contented himself with lighting the road to Hell with his captive's souls._

_That is the history of the Mary Sue, Mortal Smyth. How many they number, I cannot say. But I can say that they have not changed but the language they speak and the way they appear."_

_I mulled this over. "Were there ever any straight boy bands?"_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj slowly nodded. "The Mary Sue Eurydice captured one of their small number, the Mortal Orpheus, who could play the lyre in the band called 'Jason and The Argonauts' ."_

_I paused for a moment, recalling my history books. "Wait, didn't she get trapped in the underworld for looking back?" Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj grinned and whistled as he walked. "Nay Mortal Smyth, it was Orpheus who looked back and trapped her. Then he was killed, and the Underworld held them both."_

_I floated next to him, grinning because he was grinning. He such an affable dear. I thought to myself. Suddenly my next question came into my head._

_"George, do you have any friends?" He stopped whistling and looked at me curiously._

_"Friends?" he asked quizzically._

_"Friends, people who you enjoy being around and they enjoy being around you. Friends."_

_He seemed to mull it over. "Mortal Smyth, spirits are solitary creatures. I haven't seen anyone who wasn't upset over the lack of flowers on their grave and the inferior shroud in their tomb in more than 100 thousand years." He looked up abruptly. "Do you enjoy my company?"_

_I confess I was a bit taken aback. "Yes, I do very much."_

_He grinned that wide grin again, and again I saw his cracked molars. "Then I have one friend."_

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to MDHammer for the questions! PM me or add your questions to Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj in you review, and I'll see if I can answer them in the next chapter. :3_

_History facts: Humanity started farming, as near as we can tell, in 10,000 BCE. In the Bible Satan was God's right-hand-man until he gave humans the power of free choice. Satan told God that humans would turn away from God if given free chance. God said that they would love Him. Over that disagreement, a war started in Heaven, and God's side won. He banished all the Angels who had fought with Satan and cast them down. Lilith was indeed the first wife of Adam, but according to legend, failed to love God and fall under the dominion of Adam. She ran away, and consorted with animals, and it is from her that all manner of ghouls have been brought to life, an example being werewolves. The Argonauts were a band of adventurers, and Orpheus did indeed play the lyre for them. ;D_

_Disclaimer: No offense meant on any religious or historical counts._

* * *


	21. Step Right Up, Ladies and Gentlemen!

Oh me oh my! I am ever so worried!

At first, Sherily and I were the bestest-westest couple you ever did see! He's oh-so handsome and strong and very, werey, clever, so all the other ladies of course kept staring at him, so of course I _had_ to, I simple was _forced_ to hold his arm tighter! He's _mine,_ _my_ little Sherily-Beryliy! But then, oh woe! He _looked_ at me like I was one of the icky-sticky stray-away dogs that came up and sniffed my dress. Then, oh! Oh! It breaks my heart! He said in a really-weally cold tone "May I have my circulation back please?" And so I said to him "How can I give it back if I don't know what it is?" in my best I'm-so-confused voice, because I really _don't_ know what that is and aside from the diamonds that he gave me, I haven't taken anything from him! And then, he, he, he _looked_ at me again! Like I was the village idiot, not a princess! So of course I cried.

And soon I had my Sherily back, but I'm not sure if I can forgive him. I must _show him_ _exactly_ how much he hurt my _delicate_ self.

* * *

Oh my God what have I done.

Oh my God what have I done.

Oh my God what have I done.

Oh my God what have I done.

OhmyGodwhathaveIdone.

OhmyGodwhathaveIdone.

OhmyGodwhathaveIdone.

OGodwhat'veIdone.

OGodwhat'veIdone.

OGodwhat'veIdone.

OGodwhat'veIdone.

GodI'mdonefor!

* * *

Holmes is panicking.

Apparently, he hurt his love's feelings.I never would have thought that slip of a girl would cause so much panic, but apparently she's a devil when angry. Tears are used like weapons, and only a shower of diamonds and kisses can break them off.

I do hope he doesn't go through with the wedding, after seeing this, although it's looking less likely that he'll actually go through with it, thank Heaven.I say this not because he hasn't proposed yet, but because he's running around furiously packing and trying to get me to help him fake his death.

* * *

_Today Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj and I got mobbed._

_Quite literally, in fact. Apparently, some bonehead (oh the irony!) contractor decided to build a hotel over the resting places of several prominent Jacobean businessmen. Needless to say, they zeroed in on Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj like a pack of wolves, clamoring for the businessman to develop the pox, for the beams to rot quickly, and for rats to eat the flesh of the workers._

_As much as I would be fascinated to watch Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj work, I decided that they were taking things a little out of proportion. I mean, those poor rats! The average hotel-builder is hardly very clean, and if the rats eat them, they'll get lots of nasty diseases which they'll spread to the rest of the population, and possibly cause an epidemic killing thousands. Including the rats._

_So of course, I immediately stepped forward just as Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj was conjuring up his dry-ice globe and began to mediate between irate businessmen and The Spirit of Foul Tombs and Moldy Graves, Which-Are-To-Be-Cleaned–Immediately-Or-That-Nice-Silverware-I-Gave-Our-John-Will-Be-Cursed-Immediately._

_"Excuse me, but aren't you being a bit unfair to your fellow business man?" Twenty-three eyes turned to me, with miffed expressions on their owners faces._

_Heedless of their frosty stares, I ploughed on. "The fellow probably doesn't realize what he's doing. As far as he's concerned, some man at the real-estate office sold him a piece of property that looks like a good investment. If you go through with your plan, you'll ruin him for something he wasn't even aware he was doing."_

_The businessmen looked at each other in their ridicules outfits. "Nonsense." A man in a purple velvet cloak, a ruffled linen shirt, with a cream-colored doublet of semi-respectable quality stepped forward, electing himself to be the spokesperson after casting glances to his fellow grave-mates. "Once he doth begin to build his hostel, the blackguard will disturb our rest. And what can we say this villain will do with our bodies?"_

_I closed my eyes and smiled. I knew exactly what to do. "If you could be buried anywhere, where would you be buried?" I let the smile play around my lips and I heard the congregation shift around nervously and look at each other questioningly and hesitantly. I opened my eyes and gave Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj a wide grin._

_"George, can you show these gentlemen some lovely spots that currently are free to be buried in?"_

_He looked a bit surprised, but he hid it well as he brought out his globe, and as it started to smoke, the Mortal souls crowded around as he intoned in a surprising imitation of an announcer selling a horse,_

_"Gentlemen, here we have a stunning three-grave plot of land, attractively located by the sea shore. You will be able to enjoy all of eternity to the soothing repetition of the waves, and when you crave excitement, you and thy neighbors can glory in the raw power of nature as you create a storm for your amusement. _

_Also to your left, you will see an attractive oak tree, with room for one and a perfect resting place for those of a poetic nature with bluebells and other charming flora growing about the roots, which coincidentally, as your body decomposes, will feed the tree, allowing you to "branch out" and move into the tree itself. That is a lovely rare commodity much sought out in today's market. I suggest you get it before someone else does, as this offer is limited! _

_And to your right, Mortals, for the more exotic among you, we have the first cherry tree to ever have been successfully brought over to England. Although the tree itself hath perished long ago due to the harsh winter, ye can use thy powers to give the spirit of the tree cause to rise on full moons, thus allowing thy soul to revel in the delightful scent of the blossoms to accompany you until Kingdom Come, and it's perfect for a romantic night with thy favorite lady! She shall be sure to love it. _

_Speaking of thy charming female companions, there's no reason men can't be friends with diamonds either! Here lies a fine catch, a diamond cave that won't be found until the last week of Existence! Feel free to make thyself at home among diamonds of the first water, and make them shine with thy glow! The shiny reflective surfaces will give Eternity a grand and mysterious flavor. _

_If diamond aren't thy cup of tea, we have this lovely tea plantation surrounded with the most beautiful scenery this side of the Void…"_

_After much deliberation, each of the spirits chose a new resting place according to their tastes. Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj promised to have bricks spell out their wishes when their corpses were discovered, and personally promised that they would be moved to their new resting places._

_I nodded to myself, pleased at this outcome. Now no one would die, and the hotel would flourish with the ghost legends, especially since one kind spirit asked if he could become the resident ghost- a helpful one, of course. All in all, most satisfactory._

_After each of the ghosts had drifted off, chatting excitedly, I turned to Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj with a disbelieving smile on my face._

_"George, you were magnificent! Where did you learn to sell land like that?"_

_I saw the most astonishing thing in my life. When Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj blushes, he blushes white._

_His skin several shades lighter, his skin now really resembling paper, he answered in a low, deep voice, as though he was whispering from the bottom of the well._

_"I used to mumblemumblemumble…"_

_'What's that George? Speak up!"_

_He blushed whiter._

_"I used to sellmumblemutermutter…"_

_"What?"_

_"I USED TO BE A HORSE AND EQUIPTMENT SALESMAN MORTAL SMYTH!" His shouted, shoulders hunched, head forward, eyes closed, feet apart. At least, I think his feet were apart. I never did ask him if he had feet or not…_

_"A…what?" You could have knocked me over with a feather. And it probably would help that I weighed less than a feather myself._

_He was blushing in his eye sockets. "Mortal Smyth, surely thee know of the Apocalyptic Riders with their Fell Weapons of Death, Pestilence, War, and Famine and Skeletal Horses? And the Flaming Swords and Wingéd Steeds of the Angels? Where did you think they got them?"_

_I confess I was a bit taken aback. "I…I always thought God gave them to them." I stuttered._

_He was white as the stereotypical ghost._

_I realized I was being incredibly foolish. "George, you're a marvel!"_

_He quickly looked up. "What did thou say, Mortal Smyth?"_

_I started talking airily, excitedly even, using my hands to emphasize my points. "George, that's one of the most incredible things I've ever heard in my life! You should be proud of skills like those! Without you, half of the powers of Heaven and the Apocalyptical Five would never have existed!"_

_He held my gaze, his blush receding, and drew himself into a proud posture. "Yes, that is true Mortal Smyth. I have indeed provided much power to the side of God. Why, not even the blacksmiths of Hell have ever managed to break a sword or kill a horse of mine!"_

_I smiled, and we chattered on a bit as somewhere, a crowd of workmen ran screaming for the local priest, their supervisors, and their mothers._


	22. And We'll All Go Together In The End

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. School called. :D The story's wrapping up, and I'll get to the Atlantic question next chapter. x)

* * *

Oh me oh my oh dear oh Sugar-Gumdrops of Oblivion!

Sherily is being ever-so mean to me! I don't understand, everyone else is usually so loving and gentle-wentle with me, like I was a teensy-weensy glass figurine. Why isn't he being so nice? He's so not nice, it's a vice! It's just not fair! I work so hard to get the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes to love me, and he doesn't but me even the littlest opera house!

Mother will send me away and make me…make me… _not-pretty_ if she finds out. Oh dearieweary me!

I think I shall tell Sherily about the note I just got from my father's kidnappers…it sure looks awfully-waffley like they want to meet him…

* * *

"Holmes, this has got to stop. You are cowering, yes, _cowering_, from this girl. You need to be away from her influence. No, don't argue with me. I'm taking you to a pub, an honest-to-goodness pub, where the only feminine influence is the barmaids. No, don't look at your cocaine like that, you're going."

"Watson, you're being ridicules. Why can't we go to Simpsons if you feel like getting me out of Baker Street? That appeals to me much more than any rowdy bar. It's no good Watson, I won't go. There's no reason to go to a pub, or even go out. What possible reason could you have for trying this stunt?"

"Because, Holmes, you can't get roaring drunk at Simpsons or Baker Street without getting thrown out."

* * *

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj assured me that we were almost at the Fates. I had to trust him that we weren't headed toward Hell, as the plane of reality seemed to morph into a swirling, grey substance, giving the entire place a distorted look. I missed the blinding white, clean, light._

_"But George, so if you sold the Angels and the Apocalyptical Five their horses when they were tipsy on The Eternal Fountain of Wine so they would ask where you got them, just where did you get them?"_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj shuffled his feet, causing my eyes to suffer a mini-stroke as that movement disturbed the already disturbing swirling solid mist._

_"I er…found them, Mortal Smyth."_

_I immediately became suspicious. "Found them where George?_

_"Uherrrr…" That was by far the oddest noise I'd heard him make. It sounded like the rumbling of rocks over the top of the Capulet's Monument. This was serious._

_"Where George?" I asked sternly._

_He shuffled his feet around._

_"Stop doing that George! My eyes are going to explode."_

_He stopped his embarrassment long enough to look at me quizzically._

_"Mortal Smyth, why would your eyes do that?"_

_I nearly rolled my eyes when I remembered. "Oh, George, that's right. You see with your aura. It looks different to you."_

_But I remembered myself and quickly schooled my features into my best "Let's-Hear-It-Or-I'll-Feed-You-To-The-Sues" look._

_"But that doesn't matter. George, it's no use stalling. Where did you get the horses?"_

_He blurted, he practically blurted out, and until you've heard someone with a voice that sounds like last year's leaves blurt, you've never really heard it properly, "FromGod'sworkshop."_

_If my eyes were going to explode, I'm sure they looked like they were going to pop out._

_He blushed white again. "Mortal Smyth, you must understand! He was just going to throw those parts out! He said that they would corrupt His new-formed world! And He had just left to talk to the Angel Hayyel about his new Duties to His animals on Earth. He left the door open! And..there they were…"_

_Here he finished with a stammering halt. When Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj stammers, it sounds like a gravestone is being chipped away. Very harsh on the ears. I kept up my stare._

_He blushed paler and started to get defensive, turning his eye sockets to me in a very aggressive manner._

_"He works in mysterious ways Mortal Smyth! Perhaps He meant for me to find them! And after a few…adjustments…they were perfect!" Here he poked a bony finger shrilly up in the air. "Dost thou know how hard it was to create something like life? I had to figure out how to make the molecules go in such a way, and if I did it wrong then the horse ran around like a firecracker because just one molecule had split!"_

_He was breathing very hard. Panting even. Why, his chest must have moved a full millimeter in and out._

_So I did the first thing I thought of to calm him down. I hugged him._

_Hugging Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj was an odd experience. He felt like…have you ever seen gel being chilled, and the mist that rises off from it? It felt like hugging that. And I found out that he does, indeed, have ribs. I think I cracked a few._

_But that was fine, because being a spirit, he soon flowed back into his proper shape, aside from the nonplused look on his flaking face._

_"Wha..what was that Mortal Smyth?"_

_"That," I informed him, "was a hug. A method used by humans to comfort others."_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looked at me like he was about to say more about this, when he suddenly stiffened._

_"Mortal Smyth. Look behind you."_

_I looked. I saw a small form on the edge of whiteness, moving into the serpent mists very quickly. So quickly, in fact, I saw it was Lady Sindony Malton in materialize less than a blink of an eye._

* * *

"Watson, this may have been..hic…the best idea you've ever had."

"Thank you old man. Hic…'twas good, wasn't it?"

"I feel so libera…libere…Watson, what's the word?

"Libra?"

"No, that's a dashed star sign. The one that means freed…freedi…that thing."

"Liberation?"

"That's the…hic…bunny!"

"Wots rabbits got to do with it?"

"The point is..."

"Watch where you're waving your drink old man, it's not meant to be worn!"

"See this frown Watson? It means I think my drink looks dashed good on you and that's not the point. The point is I feel wond…fabul…great. Why is this Watson?"

"Because I'ma…hic…genius."

"Nonononononononono"

"I say Holmes, are you stuck?"

"There was no need to…hic…hit me Watson! I was most certainly not stuck! _The reason is_ I'm no longer being hounded by that Sue woman."

"I don't see what that's got to do with being stuck Holmes…"


	23. Goodby, Farewell, My Dear

**I am deleting this account.**

**I refer you to the old internet rule: If you like it, save it, and credit.**

**The FINAL CHAPTER shall be coming along shortly.**

**I'm leaving this up for three days, feel free to save, because this is not seeing the light of the internet again.**

**It's not that I don't like this story, or I don't like you. In fact, I love both of them.**

**A bit too much.**

**My comp time is being limited by me, I am exercising self-restraint from the internet. I have shut down every other account on every other site.**

**Good day.**


	24. All's Well That Ends Well

**A/N: Here it is, the finish! :D Hope you enjoyed the ride and there's a shout out for VHunter07!**

* * *

Bah. Who's ringing that bell? I hope Mrs. Hudson gets rid of them.

Oh God, they're coming up. Gotta get off the couch.

Arrge my head.

Oh, it's _her._

"Sherily, look at this note! It's from Father's kidnappers!"

My God, that VOICE! Was it always that high? And that perfume…it's too strong..I think I'm going to puke…

"Sherily, are you feeling well my bicklebumpkinboo's?"

NOW I'm going to puke…

"Of course I'm not "feeling well" my _dear_. Even someone with the intelligence of a _brick_ could see I'm not "feeling well". Which proves my initial suspicion that you and the masonry have a family resemblance!"

Opps. Did I just say that out loud? Oh…make the pounding stop…

Did she have to slam the door so _loudly_?

I can't deal with this note…I'll send it over to Lestrade...

* * *

Ohmygoodness! He called me…a..briiiiick! He thinks I'm uuuugly! Mother must never find out!

Chocolate, I need chocolate!

* * *

I read Mr. Holmes' note with excitement. Here was my chance to prove myself to my Angel!

I quickly assembled my men. There could be no room for error. As we sat rattling in our carriages, all I could see was her face…her lovely face. I would risk anything for her.

* * *

"_George, quick! That madwoman is coming closer!"_

"_Mortal Smyth, why are you worried? Thou art a spirit, she cannot harm thee!"_

"_George. Your "equipment" that you sold?" I grabbed his bony, frail hand, heedless of the patches of skin peeling off as I pulled him behind me."_

"_Yes Mortal Smyth?" I floated faster, desperately trying to keep away from the runaway train that was Lady Malton._

"_Could those weapons hurt spirits?" She was gaining, and as I looked back I could see that disconcerting fog twisting her outline, transforming it into the likeness of an eerie beast._

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj drew out his chest, trying to look as affronted as one can possibly look while being dragged by one arm at an 100 mile per hour clip. "Of course Mortal Smyth! Why else would they still be in use? There are no finer weapons!"_

_If I still had I body, I would have been panting. "George, what kind of weapons can be used against a spirit?"_

_He drew one finger to his lips as he was yanked faster, now skimming horizontal. "Well, if they have been created by God, been cursed by the Devil, been sanctioned in one of the Twelve Holy places in the Cosmos, or have been given a part of a soul. For instance, if a mortal of any world was very attached to their necklace, or some of the trinkets thee keep around, the inheritant of that necklace would feel a bit of that soul living with them. Or the mortal that had died with it would find themselves holding a bit of their soul in the shape of that necklace. Why dost thou ask?"_

_I pulled faster. "Because Sindony Malton was very attached to her cleaver."_

* * *

My men surrounded the stinking warehouse. I felt a surge of anger at the thought of my darlings noble Father being kept in such a hell-hole. The audacity of these criminals knew no bounds! I grit my teeth in anger at the thought of what pain would show on my dove's face when she understood where her beloved Father had been held captive. With that image in my mind, I gave the signal to go in.

* * *

"_George!" I screamed "George, she's gaining! Help George!"_

_Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looked at my face, then turned his head to focus his eye sockets on Lady Malton's hate-filled face, as she screamed "IT WASN'T MY FAULT! THOU ART NOT MY JUDGE YOU HEATHEN! I SHALL NOT BE CONDEMED BY THE LIKES OF THEE!" He began to show concern as his aura sensed the power that her butcher's-cleaver pulsed with. "HE WAS A PIG! IT WAS ONLY JUSTICE! DOST THOU HEAR ME WRETCH? JUSTICE!"_

"_Mortal Smyth, this may be serious."_

"_Gee, George, you think? Eek! Quick, pull up your feet!" He obeyed moments before Lady Malton swung her cleaver at his legs. "GEORGE, DO SOMETHING!"_

_He started to pull out his dry-ice crystal ball as she swung again, this time for my arm. I jerked it out of the way just as Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj uttered a sharp word of power and we seemed to jump._

_Because of my arm jerk, I spun away from Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj as we shifted away from Sindony. I believe I blanked out, for when I awoke, my hearing was fuzzy as I tasted cold marble. I sat up from the floor, and saw Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj standing in front of a panel of beings, seated high in tall regal chairs. Poor George looked small in front of them._

_My hearing clicked into place as I caught the words "…consorting with a mortal spirit. Disgraceful! Do you know, Spirit Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj, that because of your actions, fate has been altered? You have infringed upon our territory of power!"_

_I heard George reply in a subdued, humble way "In what way, O Fortunes?"_

_One of the Fates gave a most unreagal sniff. "In what way indeed! By giving the Mortal Mary Smith a dream-link with the Mortal Sherlock Holmes, you planted the seeds of discontent with the Mary Sue! Because of that dream, the message of anger that failed to connect while she was living came to fruition in his subconscious!"_

_Here George tried to speak, saying "But at least the tombstone-writers were unaffected…" but was run over by another Fate. "It is true they were going to get drunk anyway, but because of their gossip, one of Mortal S. Holmes' junior operatives heard them and warned the rest of his organization about the Mary Sue! And because of the warning the little mortals received, they did their best to ruin all romantic moments between the two! All told, they ruined 42 possibly romantic moments without alerting the Mortal Holmes! That was momentous you fool!"_

_I felt a surge of pride for Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj and that our tactics worked, followed by a surge of anger at the high-handed Fates. I struggled to get up, but that jump had not been kind to whatever it was I was made of._

_Another Fate cut in as George was opening his mouth. "If we had not stopped you, who knows what could have happened! This is a worse fiasco than the time you sunk Atlantis by making that butterfly flap its wings in Africa!"_

_Here Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj made a valiant attempt at arguing. "O Fates, if I had not, a spider would have eaten it!"_

_This brilliant point was overruled by another pushy Fate. "And relocating those spirits! We've been getting all sorts of complaints from people who were going to be nice, safe sheep-herders and are now doomed to become starving writers because of the inspiration those ghosts have been giving!"_

_Poor George was looking the worse for these salvos. "But at least that had nothing to do with the Mary Sue Milady Fates!"_

_Another Fate looked quite angry at this. "But it CHANGED FATES you ninnyhammer!" _

_At this I finally was able to get up on my feet, and I started floating unsteadily towards George just as the Fates, as one, boomed out "__**YOU ARE **__**FIRED**__."_

_The Fates turned back to their overseeing jobs, apparently not giving him another thought. I managed to get to his side, and placed a hand on his shoulder."Mortal Smyth, what am I going to do now?"_

* * *

"It's a trap!"

A huge battle had erupted in the warehouse as several snipers opened fire on the coppers below. Once they had gotten under cover, they fired back, as bits of metal screamed through the air and pieces of fish turned sticky summersaults. The water underneath the warehouse beat through the floor as the bullets tore up planks and the building shook as the stilts it was built on took hits. Lestrade heard all of this, the death-cry of sharp metal, the sickening sound of fish squishing against bodies and boards, and the shrill creaking of the wood. "EAVERY BODY OUT!" he roared as he fired while holding the body of a wounded constable.

Still firing, the police struggled out, as they shot down the snipers. Lestrade grabbed one of the wounded snipers as the constable's friend carried the wounded constable outside. "HURRY!" he yelled as the roof beams started to crash down, their worm-eaten wood riddled with holes.

* * *

Watson shook his head as he splashed cold water over it to clear it. He walked slowly downstairs, his muzzy brain turning over the oddest thought. _What if_ he wondered _Miss Sue __**was**__ the creature Miss Smith was talking about?_ He shook his head. The odd thoughts he was getting.

He made it down the stairs without incident, but stopped on the landing and gave a small gasp of worry. He rushed over to his prone friend and carried him back to his room. _He must have had more than I thought._

He scandalized Mrs. Hudson as he ventured into her territory, her kitchen, to brew an old soldier's recipe for curing hangovers.

As he brought it to Holmes, he was relieved to see him sitting up and rubbing his temples. He handed him the drink with a small grin. "Late night?" he asked glibly.

Holmes scowled, and then gave a rueful grin. "Never allow me to try to win against you in a drinking contest."

He gave a small laugh. "Well Holmes, you beat me in boxing, fencing, running, deductions, and acting. Statistically, there _had_ to be something I beat you at." he teased.

Holmes threw a pillow at him. "Oh stop gloating and let me get dressed." Watson grinned and left.

* * *

He fumed. He was going to get to the bottom of this. Three constables nearly _died_. He wore an ugly, angry frown, clutching the note tighter as he strode to the holding cell of the four men they did manage to apprehend.

Another man came out of the questioning room and briefed Lestrade. "They say that all they know was some young woman, about 20, delicate looking, black curly hair, blue eyes, and very fair skin paid them money to shot a man, tall, thin, and in her words "handsome-wansome"." The man made a small moue of distaste as he read that.

Lestrade gave a gasp.

* * *

Holmes sat curled up on his chair, smoking his pipe as he tried to remember this morning. Something about a note…

His thoughts were interrupted as the door flew open and a furious Lestrade stalked into the room. He grabbed Holmes by the collar as he growled "My office. _**Now**_."

* * *

Lillith drew a contented breath. She was in the Himalayans, overseeing a clear lake, and there was a cute Vampire in the neighborhood. Freshly made. She licked her lips. Just then the lake rippled distressingly. She gave a small frown. One of her daughters must be in trouble. She waved her hand, glad once more that several of her lovers had shown her the way to master these powers, and the lake focused on one of her daughters in Scotland Yard. Lillith's face darkened in rage. Her daughter had failed! Such failure could not go unpunished. She waved her hand angrily and the lake jumped as a large discharge of power fled from her daughter, through the lake, and back into her. She turned away in disgust. As she moodily glided her way back to town, she comforted herself in the thought that she could give her next child that power. And maybe that next child will come soon…that vampire _was_ most attractive…

* * *

I'm ugly…I'm ugly…I'm ugly and no one likes me. Mr. Lestrade is yelling at me, and Mr. Holmes hates me. He's sneering in contem- contemf- oh what's the word! Oh! Oh! Listen to him! "Watson, should I ever act so foolishly again, remind me of her. I shall quickly remember why I don't trust women." Oh God, there's snot coming out of my nose!

* * *

_Poor Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj looked so dejected. His hands limp at his sides, as small pools of inky darkness welled up in his eye sockets. _

_Suddenly I knew what to do. I gave a blinding smile and a giddy laugh as I clapped my hand on his shoulder. (I had to stand on my tip-toes to do this.) "George, this is marvelous!"_

_He looked at me, the inky darkness wobbling in the craters that were his eyes dangerously. "How so Mortal Smyth? It does not seem so to me."_

_I grinned even wider. "George, you can't tell me you honestly were happy dealing with all those petty spirits and temperamental Fates were you?" I took his confused face as a "no". I beamed at him. "George, how would you like to go explore the cosmos with me? A grand tour!"_

_He slowly started to smile._

"_I would like that Mortal Smyth, I would like that very much."_


End file.
